


Menial Labours

by tea_tales_and_whales



Category: Dishonored
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/F, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:45:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_tales_and_whales/pseuds/tea_tales_and_whales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia jokes one day that Cecelia is more suited for menial tasks. She's not wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Menial Labours

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Dishonored kinkmeme prompt "Lydia/Cecelia - mutual masturbation - Lydia does say that Cecelia is suited for the menial tasks..."
> 
> Abbey bless your filthy little souls ~

Lydia jokes one day that Cecelia is more suited for menial tasks and Cecelia's face goes pink. Something like shame possibly blooms in her belly, but she stamps it out because as her hard-working mother has always told her - Abbey rest her soul - there's no shame in hard work, no shame in a little sweat.

Cecelia later thinks on those words and flushes as red as her hair because she's certain her mother never intended her advice to be taken so...well...liberally. Mutual frigging with Lydia Brooklaine of all people is hard work, yes, and there's more than a little sweat involved but all the same...

Cecelia does her damn best not to think of her mother during these liaisons.

Lydia has Cecelia pinned against the locked bathroom door - newly installed by Piero under Corvo's steely-eyed glare and Cecelia's not sure what that's all about but Lydia for one has now loudly refused to bathe without stern-featured Wallace guarding the door against peeping Toms - and her fingers are making quick work of Cecelia's trousers. Meanwhile, Cecelia fumbles with the top of Lydia's blouse and tries to negotiate with Lydia's corset.

 

"Dratted thing," Lydia grumbles before suckling Cecelia's lower lip, and Cecelia arches onto the tips of her toes as another tight swell of heat courses through her abdomen, leaves tingling in its wake. She's wet and trembling; the noise she makes when Lydia slides two fingers into her is high and quavering. She doesn't blame Lydia for hushing her.

She does, however, raise an indignant eyebrow following Lydia's wanton moan after Cecelia succeeds in freeing Lydia's breasts from her corset and teasing her nipples with agile fingers and tongue. She cannot remain offended by Lydia's hypocrisy for long when Lydia's thumb delves into the wet and drags roughly over her clit. 

"You're so wet," Lydia tells her, in a voice rough with surprised approval. Cecelia edges her legs apart a little wider and groans when Lydia's fingers twist and press hard against the spot inside her that makes the silence around their haze of harsh breath and eager fingers ring sharper and louder in her ears. 

"Oh - Lydia!"

"Come on, Cecelia," Lydia hisses, voice hitching in the middle when one of Cecelia's hands rubs against her cunt through her trousers. "We haven't got all day." 

Cecelia knows exactly what she means, thinks briefly about how dinner time is soon and they'll be expected to prepare it. She can't fathom how much she must be enjoying this messing around that even the thought of Mr Higgins coming in search of them both to scold them and tell them to get back to work, walking in on them in this state, instead of sending her into a tizzy of breathless panic, makes her giggle.

"What?" Lydia says irately, her fingers stilling momentarily. Cecelia tries not to guffaw outright, bites her lip around the words. 

"I was just thinking - imagining Mr Higgins's face -"

"What?!" Lydia sounds offended and her eyes almost bug out in horror. Cecelia swallows a shout of laughter with difficulty.

"Just - his _face_ \- if he walked in -"

Lydia silences her with a tongue pressed between her teeth, stealing the words off her tongue as she resumes fucking Cecelia with her work-roughened fingers.

"If you have time to think about that grim-faced bastard, then I'm not doing my job properly," Lydia grumbles against Cecelia's mouth. Lydia's fingers rub ceaselessly and relentlessly against her clit now and Cecelia cannot draw breath to apologize, so instead slips her fingers into Lydia's drawers, feels the fine curls of hair and delves deeper. She hums in appreciation at the soft heat she finds there, slick around her fingers, and Lydia gasps out an oath that Cecelia swallows and flushes because Lydia is crude and Cecelia was raised to blush at such language.

The smell of Lydia is sharp, and Cecelia wants to suck the taste of her off her fingertips. She can do so later; for now, Cecelia must focus on not biting her lip so hard she bleeds because the sweet pleasurable burn where Lydia works her cunt is racing up her spine in crackling arcs and plunging to her toes, curling them inside her shoes. Her face is hot, surely flushed, and she moans when Lydia licks into her mouth again and mirrors the dance of her deft fingers with a wicked tongue.

Cecelia just tries to keep up, presses into Lydia's cunt to catch the wetness dripping from her and slides it over the swollen bud of nerves above. The soft sounds of damp flesh, sweetly agitated, is filthy and makes Cecelia's ears burn. She is not prepared when Lydia pulls back and scrapes her teeth over the shell of Cecelia's ear, whispers into it hoarsely.

"Fuck - I want to spread you open on a bed, get you so wet and wanting, Cecelia. You'll scream my name when I lick your sweet, pink cunt - suck your fat, pretty little clit -"

"Lydia!" Cecelia cries, more out of shock than anything when she comes, and comes hard, her cunt pulsing with the rapid beat of her blood. Lydia looks far too pleased with herself, her neat bun loosened and a few pretty strands of mousy, sweat-damp hair curling around her face. Her mouth is pink and puffy, curved into a smug moue and Cecelia pulls her in for another kiss so she doesn't have to pretend to scowl at the older woman's victory. Lydia continues her litany of filth - and Cecelia can hear her mother's voice in her head sing-songing the Seven Strictures, fixated on the Sixth - until she herself comes with a bitten-off cry against Cecelia's freckled neck. 

Cecelia tries to ignore how Lydia's kiss against her throat makes her stomach flutter, but can't stop her shy smile when Lydia pulls back and fixes Cecelia's hair, unsoiled fingers combing through the fire-bright strands. She utterly relishes the look of wolfish hunger that burns in Lydia's eyes when Cecelia slides her fingers, still wet and sharp-salt-bitter, into her mouth and sucks on them.

They wash together at the same basin, and depart the bathroom a few minutes apart - preparations for dinner must be made after all; the Admiral is not only particular about his linens, but a stickler for punctuality - but Lydia gets her own back within a few days the next time she laughingly comments about Cecelia's suitability for "hands-on" labour. Cecelia overhears and drops the jug she's holding.


End file.
